


It's All Distraction

by starsandgraces



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-14
Updated: 2010-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgraces/pseuds/starsandgraces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov takes charge. Kirk is totally okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/11451.html?thread=11403195#t11403195) prompt at [st_xi_kink_meme](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/).

They kiss in the turbolift, Kirk's hands on Chekov's shoulders and Chekov's hands in his hair. Their teeth clack together when the lift stops and Chekov laughs, looking up at Kirk from beneath his eyelashes. "Come on," he says, " _Keptin_." He may as well be talking directly to Kirk's dick, the way it reacts.

And Chekov knows it—he's sure of that.

They walk along the corridor to Kirk's quarters as quickly as they can manage; close to each other, but not quite touching. One glance at the front of their trousers would be enough to tell anyone what was happening, but subtlety isn't the first thing on Kirk's mind right now.

He pushes Chekov inside the room as soon as the computer accepts his code, kissing him again until Chekov exhales roughly through his nose and slides their tongues together. He drags his blunt nails over the nape of Kirk's neck, where he's ticklish. They tug at each other's clothing, both unwilling to break away from the kiss. It's happened this way before—neither wants to be the first to break the contact, so they kiss and touch and rock relentlessly against each other until they both come in their underwear.

Both of Kirk's shirts are pushed halfway up his chest when he finally leans back to pull them off properly, letting Chekov deal with his own. Chekov only takes off his gold overshirt, leaving the undershirt where it is.

"I don't get to see you?" he asks, holding back from kissing Chekov again.

Chekov lets out this sound—this needy sound that makes Kirk _ache_ for him, as much as he knows it's all distraction—and pulls him in close, licking his way back into Kirk's mouth.

It's just making out for a while after that. He presses Chekov into the wall with the weight of his body, feeling the rough fabric of his undershirt against his skin—it always feels different when it belongs to someone else. Kirk can feel Chekov's dick pressing against his own, rubbing slightly when Chekov shifts for a better angle in the kiss. It's enough to drive him mad.

He reaches down to cup Chekov, unzip his fly and wrap his fingers around his cock, but before he even gets inside his trousers, Chekov is squirming out and away from beneath him. He's stronger than he looks.

"Not here," he says, a slight frown crossing his face. "In the bedroom, on your bed."

Kirk wants to object. It might even be better if he objects; it has been in the past. He says no and they have angry, twisting, fighting sex, both of them pushing to be the one who calls the shots. The last time it happened, Kirk had bite marks on his shoulder for the best part of a week and Chekov was sitting uncomfortably for three days. It was some of the best sex Kirk had had in years.

But he doesn't this time. He follows Chekov into the bedroom, watching appreciatively as he unbuckles his belt and pushes his trousers down, leaving them on the floor. When Chekov lies down—cock hard against his stomach and his legs splayed invitingly—Kirk stops by the side of the bed and unbuckles his belt, eyes still firmly fixed on Chekov.

"Now you get to see me," Chekov says, smiling vaguely. He reaches for the half-used tube on Kirk's nightstand, slicking his fingers with the contents as he draws his legs apart and—reaching down between his legs—presses the first two fingers inside himself. He lets out a hum of contentment, lifting his hips slightly. His free hand drifts down, making a fist around his cock and stroking slowly.

Kirk wraps his hand around the base of his own dick and squeezes hard, reminding himself. Then he picks up the discarded tube and squirts some lube onto his fingers, kneeling between Chekov's splayed legs. He pushes Chekov's undershirt as far up his chest as it'll go, thumbing lightly across one of his nipples. Chekov bites his lip and pushes his fingers deeper, spreads his legs a little further apart.

It's an invitation. He nudges his fingertip against the sensitive skin at Chekov's entrance and slides his finger in beside the two already there, stroking away the sudden tension until their hands move in unison, stretching him slowly. Kirk leans down to lick at Chekov's nipple, being artfully careless with his teeth. Chekov exhales shakily.

When he reaches down with his other hand to grip Kirk's wrist, they both ease their fingers out at the same time, quickly but carefully. Chekov pulls his legs up against his chest and says, "Now."

Kirk doesn't bother to push his trousers down any further than mid-thigh; he slicks himself quickly with the lube already on his hand and pushes into Chekov with a grunt. Chekov slides his legs over Kirk's shoulders and rocks down onto his dick, one hand on his ass and the other tightly gripping the sheets.

"Fuck me harder, please," he says into Kirk's ear, hooking his ankles together behind Kirk's head. It's not a request, but not quite an order, either. Chekov just wants Kirk to do what he wants. _Works every time, too_ , Kirk thinks with the last lucid part of his brain.

He rolls his hips quickly, getting off on the noises Chekov makes as much as the sensation of being deep inside him, the feeling of Chekov's cock rubbing against his belly with every movement. Kirk lets out a moan when the hand on his ass strays between his thighs.

It was never going to last long, not with Chekov muttering breathless, dirty syllables of encouragement into Kirk's ear and his clever fingers pressing and stroking behind Kirk's balls. He manages to hold off until Chekov comes, tensing beneath him. Kirk kisses him and then takes only a few more thrusts before digging his fingers into Chekov's side and coming as well, biting down on his lower lip so hard that Chekov yelps and pinches him.

They only take a moment to catch their breath before Chekov unwraps his legs and Kirk pulls out. They need to get back to the bridge. Chekov showing Kirk something in stellar cartography definitely wouldn't take much longer than this, and they'll be missed if they don't hurry.

Kirk pinches him back in the turbolift.


End file.
